“If you say so.” She shrugged happily, returning to her desk.
“Esther.” He turned to her. “You’ve worked hard enough over the past few weeks—why don’t you take some early time and go home? Treat yourself to a massage or a glass of wine. We’ve got a big few weeks coming our way, and I need you fresh and ready.”
“A bottle of wine might be better than a glass.” She laughed. “And thanks, I will take you up on the offer of an early afternoon. There’s a series on Netflix that I’ve been wanting to watch.”
“Just keep an eye out for any disgruntled political advocates on your way home.”
“Will do. Just after I run away from the hippies.”
Chapter 27
After he locked his office door, Hunter looked down the corridor that led to the elevators. Out the farthest window, the night sky was aglow with the buzz of city lights, and he tried to remember the last time he’d left in daylight. Not that he complained about the long hours. This was what he’d signed up for. He knew that the day he entered law school.
After he rode the elevator to the underground parking lot, he walked towards his car, briefcase in one hand, mind thinking about the first sip of his whiskey. Then he spotted Esther’s car still in her parking space.
Unusual, he thought but concluded that she must have gone to get something to eat before returning to her car. Perhaps even a date. A woman that looked like Esther never found getting a date any real challenge. She could walk into any bar and instantly be the center of attention. Second dates, however, were a lot harder for her.
Hunter needed his whiskey tonight. It was his reward for getting through another threat. Another note to add to the pile of idle extortions. He was getting quite a collection. There were the regular letters from people who were still outraged by his parents’ actions as if he had something to do with it, but mostly the threats came from the families of victims, the ones who wanted revenge on a criminal, and found he was the easiest target. Out of the hundreds of letters, there had only ever been one instance of violence. Good odds, if he were a betting man.
As he stepped closer to his car in the lot, something in the air didn’t feel right.
He listened to the rain falling outside, and stepped over the puddle that was beginning to pool near the ramp that led to the street. The downpour was heavy enough to slow traffic, meaning his drive home was going to be longer than usual.
With his keys pointed towards his car, he went to unlock it.
But in a moment of distraction, he stepped towards Esther’s Volvo. The safest car. That was what she’d always wanted. She wanted to feel safe as she drove around the streets of Downtown Chicago, thoughts of gang violence never far from her mind.
The yellow sedan kept her safe from the terrors of the world.
As Hunter stepped around the car, he looked at the driver’s side door.
Nothing.
No one in the vehicle.
He looked over his shoulder, back towards the elevators, then back towards the entrance to the lot. The heavy metal gates kept the cars in, but the gaps were wide enough for a nimble person to slip through. They never had any problems with the parking lot, which surprised Hunter. He kept expecting someone to slip through the gates, break into cars to steal items of worth, and then slip back out.
He heard a movement; a scrape along the edge of the car.
He waited.
Listened.
No other sound.
No other movement.
His head turned, and he slowly stepped forward to the other side of the car.
“Esther!”
Lying on the concrete, head down, blood next to her, was his assistant.
“Esther!”
He fell to his knees, cradling her head, holding her tight, as he tried to wake her.
“Esther! Talk to me. Esther! I’m here.” He held her, her face bloodied. “I’ve got you. I’m here.”
“Tex?” She began to open her eyes, blood dripping from her mouth onto his jacket.
“I’m here, Esther.”
“W-what happened?” she asked.
He looked over his shoulder, around the parking lot. No other noises. No other people.
“It’s all right. You’re safe now. That’s all that matters. I’ve got you.”
His voice sounded confident, firm, reassuring Esther, but in truth, he was filled with doubt. He knew this attack wasn’t random.
And now, he had a new reality—neither of them was safe.
Chapter 28
“Hang on. Hang on! Wait.”
Robert Sulzberger rubbed his eyes, kicked the thick blankets off, and then tapped the alarm clock next to his bed.
4 a.m. it stated in bright red colors.
Too early for a casual visitor. Too late for room service.
He rolled out of bed and moved to the door of his apartment, the banging heavy against it. As he switched on a light in the narrow entrance, his first thought was there must be a fire. His second thought was that danger was on the other side of the door.
The banging against his door became louder. Loud enough for other people on his floor to hear. If there were a danger, then there would be witnesses.
Leaning against the side of the wall next to the door, he called out, “Who is it?”
“It’s your lawyer. Open the door!”
After rubbing his eyes again, he pried the door open far enough to peek at who was in the hallway. As soon as the door was open enough, Hunter forced his way in, grabbing Sulzberger by the throat.
“Tell me who X is, or you’re going to start paying a very heavy price.” He slammed his client against the wall. The grip was tight, fueled by anger.
“What?” Sulzberger murmured. “What’s happening?”
“Tell me who X is!”
“I don’t know!” he replied. “I don’t know!”
“My assistant was attacked last night.” Hunter’s voice was more of a growl, his grip around Sulzberger’s throat tightening. “She was attacked after someone made a threat about your case.”
“I…” He shook his head. “I’m sorry. I have no idea who she is. I told you this. I don’t know!”
Hunter grunted, wanting nothing more than to take his sleep-deprived anger out on his client. But he refrained, slowly removing his grasp from around Sulzberger’s throat.
“Is Esther okay?” Sulzberger buckled forward, rubbing his throat as Hunter paced the room in the rented apartment.
“She’s fine now. Still in the ER, and they’re monitoring her, but she has her sister there.” Hunter drew a long breath. “Late yesterday afternoon, someone sent a threat to our office—nothing major, only a note. We get them all the time. I thought it was nothing to worry about. I didn’t think anything of it. But then Esther was attacked from behind as she walked out of the office to her car in the underground parking lot.”
“Did she see anything?”
“Nothing. She was sucker punched from behind, and the CCTV footage in the parking lot only monitors the entrance. No witnesses either.”
“Coincidence?” Sulzberger raised his eyebrows in hope. “Maybe a mugging?”
“Not a chance. She still had her handbag and all her belongings. They wanted to send a message to us.”
“To say what?”
“They want to derail us before the trial.”
“Well, it’s worked.” Sulzberger threw his hands up. “Here we are at 4 a.m. in a rented apartment, and your assistant is in hospital. Whatever they were trying to do has worked.”
Sulzberger moved to the coffee dripper in the kitchen, switched it on, and then paused to think for a moment. The kitchen was just big enough for one person; four cupboards, a sink, a bench long enough for a microwave, a coffee machine, and one hot plate.
“Beer?” he asked as he reached across the bench, shook a beer can, and finished off what was left.
“No.”
“Come on, it’s…” He looked to the clock on the wall. “It�
��s still nighttime. It’s not really morning yet.”
“I don’t think time has stopped you recently.” Hunter nodded to the empty cans sitting on the ground next to the overflowing bin.
“True. But don’t let me drink alone like a loser again.” Sulzberger reached into the fridge, removed two cans, and tossed one across the room to Hunter.
Hunter nodded, popping open the lid.
“I’m sorry.” Sulzberger slumped onto the leather couch, next to the double bed, beer in hand, still trying to open his eyes fully. “I didn’t think it would come to this.”
Hunter gulped his beer and instantly wished he hadn’t. It tasted like river water. Times had gotten tough for Sulzberger, and when he walked into a shop, he now looked for the lowest priced beer. And it tasted like it.
After placing the beer can on the table, Hunter removed his phone from his coat pocket and brought up a picture of the piece of paper that arrived earlier. “Do you recognize this handwriting?”
Sulzberger looked at the note, perplexed. “Is this the threat?”
“It arrived at my office yesterday.”
“From who?”
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out.”
Sulzberger stared at the picture of the note. “I don’t recognize it. It could be anyone’s. It looked like they’ve written with their left hand.”
“Why do you say that?”
“The direction of the smudge. Right-handed people don’t smudge pens as a left-hander does. I’m left-handed. That’s how I know that.”
Hunter looked at the piece of paper again. The smudge of the pen moved from left to right, indicating the person wrote over the top of their sentence.
“It’s not very threatening though. You would have thought if you were going to write a note like that you would at least make it threatening. Write it in blood, maybe.”
“They’re willing to back up what they’ve stated. Whoever wrote this is not messing around. They want you to pay for something.”
“They want me to pay for what they did.” Sulzberger finished his beer in three large gulps. There had barely been a moment in the last six weeks where he was sober.
“Who would be this vindictive?”
“Where to start.” He shook the empty can. “The whole city hates me now. Have you seen those comments on the news articles? On social media? Some of them are really nasty. Vile. People shout at me in the street if I go outside. This whole state hates me.”
“Let’s start at the beginning,” Hunter stated firmly, still standing. “Who wants to hurt you the worst?”
“Probably X, but I know nothing about her. I’ve looked for her, Tex. Over and over. I’ve stalked the places that we use to go to. I’ve walked the streets. I know nothing.”
“You must know something about her. Tell me something, anything, that can give me a lead.”
“I’ve tried so hard to find her. I’ve watched the security footage that you sent me from those stores so many times, trying to find something. Anything.” His head dropped. “But I know nothing more than what I’ve already told you. I always thought that she was a professional because she always had perfect makeup on. She looked like she had come from a mundane but well-paid job, just like me. I think that’s why we bonded. We both wanted the same thing— an escape from our life.”
“Professional, well dressed, loves to steal. That’s not a lot to go on. Anything else? Come on, Robert. We need this.”
“Nothing. I’ve thought about this so, so much, and that’s all I’ve got.” Sulzberger crushed the empty beer can in his hand and threw it in the trash. “I think I’m starting to doubt she even existed.”
Hunter looked down. He hadn’t gotten the information that he needed.
“Are you sure it was X that did this to Esther?”
Hunter looked away. “Who else could it be?”
“Pick a number, and I’ll give you the list of candidates.”
“Then start at number two. Who hates you the most after X?”
“Right now, I’d say Cindy Mendel. She keeps sending me text messages of hatred. I’ve even stopped responding to them, but she sends them almost daily.”
“You’re accusing a politician of beating someone up in a parking lot in the dark?”
“She punched me; she’s not scared of violence.” Sulzberger stood and returned to the coffee dripper. He removed a coffee bag from the cupboard. “She’d be my number two candidate.”
“And number three would be your wife.”
“Kim? No, no.” He shook his head. “She would never do that.”
“She’s a war vet.”
“She also hates war now. She hates guns, hates violence—she hates anything that brings back those memories. It wasn’t her.”
“Did you say that she hates guns?”
Sulzberger nodded. “Ever since… Ever since she saw a child shot at war, she’s hated the idea of guns. When she came back from her last mission, she cleared the house of any guns. She didn’t even like me going to the range to let off some steam. She used to go there a lot, but she refused to go anymore. It wouldn’t have been Kim.”
“Would you say that your wife was struggling mentally before all this happened?”
“Of course,” he whispered. “We both were. The separation was putting pressure on her as much as it did me.”
“And what would you say if I told you that she bought a registered Glock just before Jane Doe was killed?”
“No.” Sulzberger turned to Hunter, shock plastered over his face.
Hunter nodded his reply.
“Not Kim. She wouldn’t, would she? She couldn’t do that to Esther?”
“I don’t know the answer to that question.” Hunter began to move towards the door. “Watch where you step over the coming days, Robert. Someone is out to get revenge on you, and I don’t think a court conviction is going to give them that.”
“What will give them that?”
Hunter stopped at the door, paused and looked back at his client. “Only your death will.”
Chapter 29
With six coffees to substitute for his lack of sleep, Tex Hunter felt fresh enough to take on the high-profile court case. He’d spent ten minutes with green tea bags on his eyes, used half a bottle of ‘Clear Eyes’, and splashed his face with enough water to know he was awake. He knew his face was going to be stamped across every newspaper, and his words would lead every television bulletin. For the next few days, he would be their media star.
Before he stepped out of the black Chevy Suburban, he checked the news on his phone—no school shootings, no big weather events, and no other political disasters. Nothing else to distract the public. Nothing else but a celebrity murder case.
As Robert Sulzberger stepped out of the car behind him, Hunter handed him a mint. Sulzberger nodded, but no matter how strong the mint was, it wasn’t going to wash away the stink of weeks of alcohol abuse seeping from his pores.
When spotted, the media scrum snaked towards them in the early winter cold.
The public had a fascination with power and corruption, and this case was popular enough to be a telemovie within a year. Every one of the reporters wanted a role in that movie. This could be their break.
“Head down and don’t say a word,” Hunter stated as the pack approached.
The media huddled around them, sticking phones and cameras in their faces, yelling at them, but the men continued to walk forward. The first time Hunter experienced the hustle of a loud media pack was when his father was charged with his first killing. He’d watched the footage on YouTube numerous times since—his younger self getting angry at the harassment as he’d tried to walk into the courthouse. He’d screamed at them with tears in his eyes, yelling that his father was innocent.
And he still believed that statement to this day.
When he usually walked into the court, Esther would be by his side, keeping him organized, keeping him straight, keeping him focused, but she was at her si
ster’s house, under her watchful eye until the trial was over. Hunter couldn’t risk her being here. She was the one person he felt obligated to keep safe.
As they were greeted by security at the front door, he spotted Kim Sulzberger stepping into the building, talking on her phone, staring at her estranged husband as he walked towards his fate.
Hunter did his best not to confront her over his suspicions of the previous night’s events. His restraint was impressive.
His focus had to remain on the case at hand, the future of his client. In the hours since the attack on Esther, he had formulated a plan, a way to get what he needed from the courthouse.
They passed through the security, leaving the desperate media behind them, and into the almost empty courtroom. The curtains on the windows were drawn closed, and the lighting was dull, making the dark brown décor appear almost black, not much brighter than the mood of the room. The prosecution team, four of the city’s best legal minds, chatted around their table at the front of the room, busily readying themselves for what would take place over the coming days. Two of the younger assistants stood behind the lead prosecutors, eager to learn everything they were doing.
As Sulzberger walked into the room, he looked up to the judge’s chair, its power impressive in its height, and then to the jury box, desolate in its emptiness. He knew this court would soon be full, and his fate would be cast in this room over the coming days. He hadn’t felt nervous until now.
During the process, he’d felt a range of emotions. Fear, anger, confusion, and helplessness were his daily cocktail of emotions, but now, in the courtroom, he felt the full weight of his coming fate. This room would be where his future was decided.
It was out of his hands now.
Out of his control.
Power and Justice Page 15